Forest of Eternal Slumber
by Calliope Foster
Summary: Where do we go after our physical bodies have done their duties in this life? This is Lancelot's journey. Please, read and review if you can. Followed by poetry.
1. Forest of Eternal Slumber

**Disclaimer: **I do not own King Arthur (the legend or the film) but I adore the story and the movie so I wrote this.

**Background: **You have probably will all figure out (just by reading) that this is my take on what happened after Lancelot was wounded on the battlefield. And please, review if you can. It's only one chapter people!

* * *

**Forest of Eternal Slumber**

Lancelot awoke from his deep sleep only to find a dense forest of dark green about him. Rising to a sitting position, the knight surveyed his surroundings and despite his observance that day had turned to night; Lancelot was amazed by the sheer brightness of the moon. Here and there shafts of moonlight were permitted to shoot through the tangled mess of leaves above on the burdened trees and the beams of light turned the foliage a pale blue. The forest was absolutely beautiful—more beautiful than ever before. The Sarmatian noted that he had been here before, when passing through on return from his last journey with Arthur where they had met the Woads.

Where was Arthur now?

Grunting, Lancelot braced himself and stood as all his bones ached while crouching first and then rising fully. Lancelot felt as if he had just been engaged in ferocious battle, but he could not remember much of what had happened before waking in the forest.

A tall and full man, Lancelot was muscular from his training as a youth and forever being on the scout with his leader and best friend, Arthur. The two, Arthur and Lancelot, may have been mistaken for brothers if Lancelot's eyes had not been so blue. Pushing raven curls from his forehead, Lancelot moved forward into the brush as it scraped against his armor that cupped his knees.

Further exploring his surroundings, Lancelot noticed white flowers the flourished where the moon shone brightest. The flowers seemed to beg the moon for kisses, as children would brace their lips for their mother's own kisses. Lancelot found the plants strange, but smiled and moved forward.

A few steps further and Lancelot saw something move from behind a gnarled tree nearby. Something familiar sounded in Lancelot's ears—words to a tune he had never heard, but knew and they were chanted by the most beautiful voices.

A breeze came and the trees swung gently above him, with white flowers falling all round him; showering him in welcome. Then, up ahead, from behind the gnarled tree not a jaunt away, came the most beautiful woman and man could ever lay his eyes upon.

Lancelot gaped in wonder to see the pale woman, her eyes silver in color, her face soft and round, like the moon, and her auburn hair blew in the wind. The woman wore a white dress, with sleeves that clung to her shoulders as her silver bow dipped. An unearthly glow surrounded her, making the enchantress all the more beautiful.

"I was wondering when you'd come."

Soft and song-like, but deep and clever was the tone of this woman's voice and it was stranger and more beautiful than Lancelot had ever imagined. "Do I know thee, milady?"

"Aye," the woman nodded to him, "but, like all, you, too, have forgotten my name."

His feet carried him forward and Lancelot could not resist. "How could any man forget such a fair face as thee?"

The woman let out a laugh, her eyes dancing about Lancelot. "Every night you see my face, dear Lancelot, it is my name that you forget and it is I who has loved you and your people most."

Lancelot felt like a stupid boy, his heart pounding as he wracked his brain to know—to know this woman. "I fear I know thee not."

With just a smile, the woman lifted her eyes, looking past far up, beyond the dark bark of the birch and the green of the leaves. The woman gazed up to the moon, her eyes one with it for a brief moment. Lancelot followed her own gaze, knowing her name now as he gazed at the moon, and looking to the woman. Now, Lancelot felt the tender warmth of her hands in his. "My Lady Arianrhod."

"You haven't forgotten me entirely then." The woman smiled gently. "The worst of my fears were infantile."

Lancelot chuckled, feeling the warmth of her hands flow through his whole body, engulfing his heard and soul. "But I should have known."

"You have left your world for this one, Lancelot, where the heroes and those of good dwell." Arianrhod instructed as Lancelot became overwhelmed with concern. "You died bravely, in battle, and your name will never be forgotten."

"But I must—"

"Shh," Arianrhod whispered to him, "all is well now. Your body shall sleep it's eternal slumber—"

Lancelot pulled away from Arianrhod angrily, his fury building. "You don't understand! I must return! If not for my sake, but for Arthur's!"

Arianrhod stared at Lancelot questioningly and then, with a great sigh, she relented and nodded. Regret stayed in her eyes. "Oh, I summoned you too early, didn't I, Lancelot?" Arianrhod smirked. "But then again, it would always be too early."

Moving forward, Arianrhod slipped her hand around the back of Lancelot's head. "Kiss me and you will be renewed."

Lancelot stared at her incredulously, but her silver eyes held deeper desires and inspired deeper passions in the knight. Ensnared by her beauty and charm, Lancelot leaned forward and with the embrace of a kiss…

There was pain, immense, torturous pain. Lancelot cried out in agony and tried to stand, to gain his bearings, but all he could remember was the battle. That wretched battle! Lancelot cried out again. "Lancelot!" A familiar voice came, soothing the knight as his eyes settled on Arthur.

"Arthur?" Lancelot asked, his eyes unbelieving. "Arthur, is it you?"

"We thought we had lost you…" Arthur replied with a sigh, "please, my friend, please concur with these doctor's orders and lie back down."

Lancelot uneasily moved back to the bed and lay down, his breath worsening. "I don't know if I'm going to live, Arthur."

Arthur took Lancelot's hand, giving him a harsh stare. "I won't let you leave us again, Lancelot."

Smiling, Lancelot gripped Arthur's hand strongly and screamed in misery. Outside, in the cold winter weather, the snow illuminated by the brightness of the moon as Arianrhod awaited Lancelot's return.


	2. Peace Only in Death, Tristan's Poem

**Peace Only in Death**

My life was dark and I saw no light,

I found pleasure in death,

When I should have brought life,

I scouted and scourged,

And in my great haste,

I thought that life was my greatest waste,

I served a great man; no greater than he,

I saw he was blessed,

My king he would be.

When I took on his path,

I knew death was near,

But I found no despair, no fright, nor fear,

And by he, I was humbled; I promised my sword,

To protect and to serve,

I gave Rome my word.

I still hungered for darkness,

And my battle came,

When I gave my life, in my great king's name.

My own sword was the weapon,

With what my enemy cut me down,

But I took my death for kingdom and crown.

My life was dark and I saw no light,

I found peace only in death,

I was Tristram, King Arthur's knight.

I moved this poem, but here's the past reviews:

Pocky Katze  
2005-01-02  
ch 1, signed

thats good:)

Queen of Gore  
2004-12-30  
ch 1, signed

YES! YOU SPELLED IT TRISTRAM! Thats his real name, such as in the King Arthur legend by Thomas Malory, thats how he spelled it. Just that it was slowly morphed into Tristran and then into Tristan. And I know what you mean, in the movie it sounds like their saying "Tristram" and not Tristan. In my fan fics I usually write "Tristran" but when Im talking about him I say "Tristan" because otherwise people will start yelling at me shrug.

..Anyways... this is LOVELY! I love it, its a very neat portrayal, on his devotion to Arthur! Great job!

Calliope Foster  
2004-12-29  
ch 1, signed

Wow! I never expected people would like it! Lol. But thank you, thank you, thank you ALL for the wonderful comments.  
I used the name Tristram because I thought I kept hearing them call him that, because it's one of the many names he uses so I was confused. But still, it's all good. And I did write a story for Lancelot, I will do my best to write a poem for the little bird, and I WILL come and read your story, my dear.  
Again, thank you all!

ElvenStar5  
2004-12-28  
ch 1, signed

Cool! I liked the poem! Interesting way of saying that his life was dark, but I can see the point. He did seem to have this dark foreboding air around him, except when he was drunk. lol. Or eating apples. then he didn't seem quite so scarry. Love it! Write more! Or one for Lancelot.

ModestySparrow9  
2004-12-28  
ch 1, signed

Oh, that was really good. It's so sad that Tristan died, but you're right when you say it's for a good cause. I liked the poem. Nice wording. Please read my poem 'Wind of the North', and also, since you're a Tristan fan, you could read and review my fanfic, 'The Heart of the Hawk'. Thanks. :)  
-Modesty

Speckled Bird  
2004-12-28  
ch 1, signed

Such a beautiful peom, Tristan is my favorite character in King Arthur. I'm not joking i'm like totally obssesed with him,lol.Just on thing His name is Tristan not Tristam.

anyway great piece of writing, u really painted a beautiful protrait with our words.

Thank you guys so much!


	3. Lancelot's Recollection

**Lancelot's Recollection**

Goodbye home, my heart will ache,

Without you, to what will I wake?

I see your faces fade from sight,

I fear I'll never last the night,

But when I open up my eyes,

I'm here again, I realize,

Fully grown and the man I see,

Is not the boy I used to be.

I write in hopes that my memory,

Will recall all things that I have seen,

People painted blue and black,

Warriors that never lack,

In honor, strength, and passion great,

How odd that they resist their fate,

Before this destined night,

I could not understand their fight,

But from all the wonders I lay eyes on,

Their strong warriors show me the dawn.

I have never seen a more beautiful face,

I knew it when our eyes embraced,

To have her, I must confess,

Would be any man's greatest conquest,

But she is neither mine nor any man's,

For Guinevere is her own woman.

And then there was that dreadful fight,

The Saxons fought with all their might,

But blue faces and silver swords cut them down,

And in my heart, the arrow found,

A place to lodge and a life to steal,

A final thought; a final deal,

Though I must say I am happy now,

My ashes spread in search of home ground.

Arthur, I want you to know, I fought for you,

Not for justice, not for freedom, and not for land,

But I fought for friendship.

The friendship that we had.

Poem moved, here's past reviews:

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East Coastie1500  
2005-01-11  
ch 1, signed

T.T so sad! Oh, why did he hafta die? BUt apart from that, this was really good. I could never write poetry like this. I bow to you!

sportsaholic2009  
2005-01-09  
ch 1, anon.

this is good. i like it. its really lancelot and wat he wouldve said. it was really sad to see him die in the movie. tristan too. and dagoret. but its an awesome. and i like this poem.

Calliope Foster  
2005-01-03  
ch 1, signed

I'm glad you guys enjoyed it!

SunsetSparrow  
2004-12-30  
ch 1, signed

Love it !

Astasia  
2004-12-30  
ch 1, signed

So sad...but so true...i love all of this one specially when you write :  
I have never seen a more beautiful face,  
I knew it when our eyes embraced,  
To have her, I must confess,  
Would be any man's greatest conquest,  
But she is neither mine nor any man's,  
For Guinevere is her own woman.

Sigh sigh...  
and then :  
Arthur, I want you to know, I fought for you,  
Not for justice, not for freedom, and not for land,  
But I fought for friendship.  
The friendship that we had.  
Touching...  
Astasia

I 3 you guys so much.


	4. When You Have Grown

**When You Have Grown**

A man without honor is a disgrace,

I looked at you boy and saw my own face,

Alone and cold, taken from home,

Brutally treated and eyes cold as stone.

Boy, know this, I was a soldier,

I fought for my duty over and over,

I gave up my own life, for you to be free,

Now speak of me good when you remember me.

When you have grown, come to my grave,

And take out my sword; be strong, be brave,

Fight for our Arthur and do as I have,

Know when to be a warrior and when to laugh.

My only wish is that I could have lived,

To see you grow into a man,

That I could have taught you,

What my own father had,

But fate was in charge on that frozen lake,

And I fell with honor, I made no mistake.

Remember who lived, Lucan, and who was to die,

Remember what I did for Rome, what I did for my king.

Remember me, Lucan, when you wear my ring.

Here's the past reviews (before I moved the poem):

sportsaholic2009  
2005-01-09  
ch 1, anon.

as with ur other poem, the one for lancelot, this one is also just as good. its really touching. awesome.

Conrack  
2005-01-05  
ch 1, signed

Very beutiful.

You really nailed his personality, making him quit, observing and intelligent. Very well done.

Dagonet's my favourite knight,and i'm always looking out for more stories with him.

Nini the Electrocuted Sheep  
2005-01-04  
ch 1, signed

Oh... so sad... this is very good nods It's touching and well-written, and almost made me cry sniffsniff  
Poor Dagonet... poor Lucan. I cried when he took the ring from Dag's finger... so touching. And so is this. Thank you for writing it.  
Nini, the Electrocuted Sheep.

hornofgondor2  
2005-01-03  
ch 1, signed

aww...so sweet! you're a good poet love the rhymes...hehe

Calliope Foster  
2005-01-03  
ch 1, signed

I'm glad you liked it! I have to say that Dagonet was my hero.

QueenArgento  
2005-01-03  
ch 1, signed

Why on earth aren't there more reviews for this? This is an extremely haunting yet strangely touching poem and I enjoyed it a lot!

I love the way you've given little snippets about his life and the type of man he was and wants Lucan to be.

Super stuff :)

Quinn-FanFicAddict  
2004-12-31  
ch 1, anon.

I liked this! Shows how much Dagonet really cared for Lucan. Thankyou

Thanks guys!


	5. The Dead Lands

**Disclaimer:** I own nobody, but the characterization of Vivien, Lady of the Lake. She belongs to someone, though.

**Rating**: PG  
**Summary**: Dagonet dies and finds a strange woman waiting for him. (A companion piece to the 'Forest of Eternal Slumber') ENJOY!

**Feedback: **Welcome (extremely welcome!)

**The Dead Lands**

When Dagonet woke all was mist, entirely. No sky above him, no ground below him, and all that surrounded the brave Sarmatian was the mysterious haze. "Arthur!" Dagonet called, his voice echoing, answering his own cries. "Do you hear me!"

Far off, so very far off, there could be heard shouts and cries. Bors' cries, calling for Dagonet, calling for war. Standing, Dagonet shook out of his slight stupor and moved forward, the mist making a path for him.

Running quickly, before the vapor could return, Dagonet passed through the haze, searching for his comrades. "Bors!" Dagonet shouted. "Lancelot! I'm coming!"

"Dagonet…"

Pausing, Dagonet turned back, the mist had already covered his tracks, but that voice…it was so familiar and so distant. Arthur and the men needed him. Just as Dagonet began to go afoot once more, the voice came again. "Dagonet…"

A woman's sweet tone, it faded into the mist, was as soft as the haze itself and as mysterious.

Becoming impatient, Dagonet swallowed back sweat and fear, stopping in his tracks and calling out to the one who called his name. "I am Dagonet!" The knight cried. "Servant of Rome! Knight of Artorius! I am the man you seek!"

"Dagonet…" a whisper of a voice, coming ever closer, "I am Vivien, Lady of the Lake. Will you have no ears for me?"

The tales as a boy warned Dagonet of this woman, her trickery. Vivien came from the black depths, a lonesome soul in a lonesome world, blessing her children with hair as black as her soul. The Mother of the sea, the woman of the water; she could bring pain and suffering or peace and kindness.

Frigid, Dagonet tried to warm his arms in this icy cold, but found no solace in the chilling grip of the mist. "Lady," Dagonet replied, his voice quivering only slightly, "forgive my foolish haste, but I have duties to attend to—a vow to uphold."

At first all Dagonet could see was an odd shape moving in the mist, coming closer and closer, making his heart beat faster and faster. "Stay there!" Dagonet commanded, reaching for his sword, drawing it from its sheath, making the sword shriek. "I order you to stay back!"

"I have given you no cause to fear me, Dagonet," the murky voice replied, "why are you threatened?"

Dagonet saw her appear, a maid in twisted, dark green robes, her skin a grayish tint, her hair black and sea-weed like. A formidable creature, like some sort of sea-human. The woman's eyes were like wet obsidian, her lips completely white and wrinkled. "You came to me, Dagonet," Vivien said, her head tilting to the left slightly, "what is it you wish, Sarmatian?"

"How do you know my name?"

The lady smiled, her form becoming paler, her hair drying to become the ebony locks of normal human hair. "I know all of my children, Dagonet," Vivien said, "I hear your name on the wind, your kind sprouted from my womb and you have returned sooner than I hoped. Tell me, descendant, what is it you seek?"

Dagonet paused, he could hear no more shouting. Were Arthur and his men in danger? What in heaven's name was going on? "Where am I?"

"Within my realm." Vivien replied, her lips and cheeks gaining rouge, her dress becoming white. "You gave your life for those you loved, Dagonet—a brave deed you did…and then you came to my embrace, beneath the ice."

"No…" Dagonet stepped back, but feared she might fade from his view, so he moved closer, "is this the afterlife, Lady Vivien? I must know, tell me."

"I may keep those I wish." Vivien replied. "And for so many years I have watched you…my eye for Lancelot is keener, but you came into my grasp so swiftly. I could have given you away, let you pass on, but will you not choose to stay here, with me?"

Dagonet could hardly believe what this woman was saying. She was beautiful now, her eyes the color of her dark hair, lying against her blanched, pale skin and robes to match, while her lips became the color of the reddest rose. "Milady, I mean not to intrude," Dagonet said forcefully, "but my men need me."

Vivien gazed at him thoughtfully, at first a little playful, and then she just laughed. "You came to me, Dagonet, you belong to me." Vivien replied, her eyes boldly looking into his without pity. "How can I return that which has so freely visited me?"

"You _must_ understand…" Dagonet insisted, "I am indebted to Arthur, to his men—"

"And you gave your life for his!" Vivien snapped crisply, her voice suddenly like shards of ice, a cold wind rippling past Dagonet, chilling him. "It was your choice, Dagonet! You are _mine_!"

Suddenly Vivien calmed, a rumbling sound could be heard far off, and she held herself tightly, moving toward Dagonet. "Oh forgive me, my child," she embraced the tall man gently, her frigid body pressed to his, "I have been far too alone for far too long…I have forgotten that which is so important to you mortals…love."

"No, milady," Dagonet comforted the woman tentatively, feeling her chilly exterior make him shiver, "I had no right to ask it of you…I should have served you with the respect you deserve."

"No heart beat likes yours, Dagonet," Vivien whispered and pulled away, smiling up at him, "no man's sword could break your loyalty. When your vow is broken with the Romans, Sarmatian, I will be waiting for you."

Dagonet stared at the woman, confused as she took his hands in hers and kissed them. "Bless you, my darling Dagonet."

A searing pain, the cold sweat, the burning on his chest. "Dag!" Bors' voice, warm hands on his face. "Dag look at me!"

Blinking, Dagonet fought against the icicles holding his eyes together and gasped. "Bors!"

"The cold kept you alive, old boy!" Bors laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. "And the heat sealed your wounds!"

"Is it over?" Dagonet asked, his chest heaving.

"Yeah," Bors nodded and patted the man's forehead, "it's over, Dag."

A tiny hand entwined in Dagonet's and went he glanced up he smiled seeing two familiar blue eyes and shaggy blonde hair. "Lucan…" Dagonet sighed.

"You'll be all right, now," Lucan replied, patting his hand, "do not be frightened."


	6. Queen of the Underlands

**Disclaimer:** I own nobody, but the characterization of Madb, a Celtic goddess of war.

**Rating**: PG  
**Summary**: Tristan dies and finds a strange woman waiting for him. (A companion piece to the 'Forest of Eternal Slumber' and 'The Dead Lands') ENJOY!

**Feedback: **Welcome (extremely welcome!)

**Queen of the Underlands**

Tristan opened his eyes; he gazed upon the gray sky above him, smoke filling the air as it had during the last battle. There was one man to kill, one man who had beaten him down, and now, feeling rejuvenated, Tristan knew he could beat his opponent.

"Caaww!"

The cry of the raven alerted the knight and he saw, in the distance, a black shape cascading through the wisps of smoke, circling down to him. Tristan felt a searing pain, that of a memory, the hawk he had released in his death.

Swooping down, the raven came at him fast, but deftly landed and perched atop a sword mounted in the ground. Turning to his right, staring at the raven with suspicion, Tristan rose despite the reoccurring pains he felt from being a warrior. "Hello, new friend," Tristan smiled, finally standing, and nodded to the raven in reverence, "might I have my sword, then?"

Tilting its head, the raven studied Tristan for a moment and when the man moved, the bird flew off in a flutter of feathers. Smiling after the aviator, Tristan watched as the bird continued to stay close and circled around him several times. Finding this behavior confusing, even for a bird, Tristan moved to his sword and plucked it from the ground.

There was a great thundering from the skies and when Tristan turned to search for his comrades he came face to face with a pale young woman, her eyes like that of the sapphire Sarmatian sky, and her hair black as ebony, spun by the moon herself.

For a few moments Tristan was held by her beauty, there was a scar across her cheek, and even despite all her markings and strangeness she was pristine in appearance. Blue woad marked her bare skin, her lips red despite the cold and when she breathed, her nostrils contracted, producing steam like some sort of angry bull.

"Woad," Tristan said in distaste suddenly, "what business have you with me, woman?"

Taking a step forward, Tristan felt a great sense of ferocity in this woman, her eyes holding his without question or obedience. The woman was as wild as the boar, as free as the falcon, and as commanding as a lion, but she was clearly Woad.

"Welcome to the underlands," The woman said, her deep voice and commanding, "Sarmatian."

Without further words, the woman turned and disappeared into the fiery depths behind her, glancing back only once in invitation. Tristan followed quietly, noting the woman's physique, much fuller than Guinevere's, and she wore barely any clothes, except for animal skins covering her most precious and abundant parts.

Passing through the gray air, Tristan tried to keep up with the woman who, with spear and shield in her grasp, continued toward a forest not far from them. Tristan noted the greenery, too dense to pass through with a horse and it would be just as hard to pass through by himself.

A blue eyed glance from the woman in front of him and Tristan felt chills, her eyes so cold and fearless. Now was a chance to speak. "What are the 'underlands'?"

"My realm." Said the woman. "The realm of the warriors, the warlords, the men of blood and boldness. Would you be one of those men, Sarmatian?"

So when you died in a strange land, their gods were now your gods. Had he died? Tristan couldn't remember dying. "That is for your own choosing, woman."

A frigid smirk was his reply and she looked back to her destination, the forestry was only steps away now. Suddenly a raven cawed loudly and landed in haste on a branch before them.

"Ah, my dearest friend," the woman said, petting the bird, the silver rings she wore covered in runes and capped with black rocks, "what news have you for Badb?"

"Badb…" Tristan repeated the name beneath his breath, knowing the name and yet still lost.

The raven took to a short flight and landed on Badb's shoulders, cawing again once more, it's black, soulless eyes on Tristan. Badb turned to face the warrior, her cold eyes studying him harshly. "Death took him, my friend," Badb reached up and stroked her pet's feathers gently, "his fate is decided."

Once again the raven cawed, as if in argument to the goddess, and so she nodded in reply. "Should Cernunnos gather word of this, he will certainly grow very cross."

Seeing the woman's agreement, the bird spread its wings and flew away. Badb looked to Tristan once more. "You are cursed then, warrior, to walk the world of mortals once more," Badb said, "your thread was cut short and the fates wish to make amends."

"Back to the world of warfare and waste." Tristan replied with a smirk, sheathing his sword. "Will I meet my companion once more?"

"It is she who bartered your release." Badb smirked, walking toward Tristan, who quickly explored the woman's body with ease. "You should thank her."

With that, the goddess took her spear and ran it through Tristan's heart, making him cry out with pain. "Badb!" Tristan cried out. "I am not ready!"

The shrieking call of a falcon could be heard overhead and when Tristan opened his eyes he saw the sky, gray and familiar. The smell of the smoke choked him and the shouts of dying men made him go stiff.

There was a dot in the sky then, something was swooping through the smoke, and there she landed, perching atop Tristan's sword. "Old friend…" Tristan smiled at his hawk and she cried in reply, "thank you."

Making another call, the hawk then disappeared into the smoke, and then the groaning sound of men came closer. "Tristan!"

Tristan grunted when Galahad came near and leant down to help him. "Tristan, are you all right?"

"What does it look like, you idiot?" Gawain shot back, moving to Tristan's side. "He needs a doctor, hurry, Galahad, help me."

Tristan coughed, tasting blood. When he looked to the sky a raven spiraled in the air above him.


	7. Curse of the Valkyries

Disclaimer: I own nobody, but the characterization of Valfreyja. She belongs to the Norse mythos.  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Cerdic dies and is visited by the valkyries. (A companion piece to the 'Forest of Eternal Slumber') ENJOY!  
Feedback: Welcome (extremely welcome!)

**Curse of the Valkyries**

All was black.

Through the darkness Cerdic heard the great pounding of hooves, the bellowing of steeds, and the shouts of battle. When the Saxon opened his eyes he gazed upon the field of battle; fire blazing and men strewn about the plain made the sight memorable. Cerdic smiled at his deeds and then heard the great snort of a horse from behind him.

Turning around, Cerdic saw a group of women warriors riding through the fires unharmed as their ornate horses gleamed with gold. Each of the women were dressed in fine clothing made of expensive crimson cloth and wearing decorated breastplates. All of these warriors had long, blond hair, armor to suit and compliment them each, and the best of war horses that snorted and pawed at the ground.

The horses were huge, muscular, and coming straight for Cerdic. The captain of the warriors shouted a halt and all the women did as they were instructed. Dismounting, the leader came to Cerdic, her horned helmet gleaming in the flames, and her blue eyes never leaving his form.

As the woman came closer, Cerdic saw that she was nearly as large as the horse herself. Standing as tall Cerdic, or possibly taller, she had great width as well as stoic face that looked as if it had been carved from stone.

Gracefully, the beautiful woman approached and freed her hair from the helmet, placing it beneath her arm. Next to her sword, the contents of a large horn tied to her waist sloshed from within. "I am Valfreyja." She introduced herself, her voice strong and deep. "I am the commander of the Valkyries, for I am the first."

"My lady," Cerdic fell to his knees before her and closed his eyes as he bowed his head, "am I so worthy a man for your realm?"

To that Valfreyja hesitated in reply, scowling down at Cerdic. "You were a good warrior, Cerdic, for I have seen all of your battles and I have awaited the time to come to you. Your accomplishments are astounding—there are little men who would be so worthy as you in war, but I have little faith that, as a man, you are worthy for my realm."

Cerdic was not disheartened, but as he looked up to the woman he felt her eyes burrow deep into his soul. "I have not only seen your battles, but I have seen all." Valfreyja said and her voice was not in praise, but condemnation. "You are the wickedest of all men. You hold barely any sanctity for women. You kill for spite and pleasure, for revenge. You do not honor your family. You turn your son away and routinely discount all his victories while dwelling on all of his faults. By far, Cynric, was far more a man than his own father."

At this Cerdic felt his heart twinge slightly, but the woman's harsh words hardly meant anything. "To forgive you for your sins and refuse you passage to Valhalla, only to send you Hel with her inglorious underworld would be no kind of punishment. Instead, I will deny you any afterlife and you will wilt in the world of mortals for your cruelties until you discover that your loneliness and cruel fate is your own doing."

"Wait!" Cerdic said desperately, but the woman had already begun to leave him. "Valfreyja! I ask you for forgiveness!"

Just as Valfreyja commenced to mount her horse, she looked back with those burning sapphire eyes. "No amount of begging can save you," Valfreyja replied, her proud head held high as she put her helmet back on, "you have one last chance, Cerdic. Show me you are worthy for the realm of the gods and you will be invited with open arms."

With that, Valfreyja got on her steed, cried out a retreat, and the valkyries, with their horses snorting in defiance, rode off into the blazing fires of the battlefield.

Cerdic awoke to smoke…his body pounding in pain. Valfreyja's words echoed in his mind as he thought of his son Cynric's fate. A small ounce of pity entered Cerdic's heart, but it was only for himself. Cynric would receive the afterlife and not he.


End file.
